Idiosyncrasy (Harry Styles AU)

Two

Chapter 2

Harry

It's the middle of the night, dark and eerie and completely silent.

But the worst part of it is that I can't fall asleep. My nightmares seem to be getting the better of me again.

The one tonight was about . . . the incident. Like most of the other dreams. They leave me hysterical, shivering and crying in the middle of the night.

But somehow this one is even worse than the others.

I sit up in bed, resting my head in my hands. I'm completely exhausted, but I can't calm myself down enough to fall asleep.

I need someone, as much as I hate to admit it, I need someone to talk to.

But there's no one I can call. I don't know anybody.

I just hate these damn nightmares.

I wrap my arms around myself in an attempt of comfort, but my heart just won't stop racing.

Finally deciding that it's useless to try to get back to sleep again, I reluctantly crawl out of bed.

A few minutes later, I'm sitting at my kitchen table downing my third glass of whiskey.

This is the only way I've ever gotten to get myself to calm down; getting drunk, then passing out.

But the only bad thing about it is that my mind tends to wander more than normal, and I can't stop it.

The letter my father sent me crosses my mind for the thousandth time. He was the reason . . . it happened.

The screaming is still permanently burned into my memory, and as I think about the horrendous day, tears are flowing freely down my face.

And just like that I'm destroying my flat. Flipping over tables, breaking china, ripping up magazines.

When at last I'm calmed down, I collapse on the floor, sobbing so hard my lungs burn. My heart hurts; everything hurts.

Why did this have to happen? I didn't ask to have this happen to me.

I yearn to feel wanted, loved again. But that's never happening because I've shut myself completely up inside.

And I still have yet to except that I will always be alone for the rest of my life until I die.

When I finally do pass out, my dreams are anything but happy.

__

Work is hard even without a hangover, but now it's just downright unbearable. All the loud noises are making my head scream at me for getting up this morning.

I try my best to work on the car in front of me, but it's useless.

My boss says I'm one of the best mechanics out there, even if he does think I'm strange.

I've barely exchanged two words with any of the people I work with, including my boss. He's the one who does most of the talking when we do "talk".

Twisting the wrench in my hand, I cry out in pain and drop the tool. Clutching my hand, I kick the tire in anger.

My hand is still hurting me from the day before. I guess I hit that wall pretty hard.

"What's wrong, Styles?" asks my coworker, Caleb. I'm not sure why he cares.

I shrug, not speaking, as always.

I rub my aching hand, and I assume he loses interest because he turns back to his work, as do I.

It snowed all night, and I thought I wasn't going to make it to work. But low and behold, here I am.

Honestly I didn't really want to come to work at all, but it's better than going even more out of my mind alone at my house.

I busy myself with the car's messed up engine, trying not to hurt my hand and disturb anyone else again.

My father's letter is still bouncing around in my mind, and I wish deeply that it will all just go away. I came to London to forget my past.

Obviously that hasn't gotten me very far, what with all the nightmares and the letter from my dad.

No matter how much I drink I can't seem to drown it all.

After work is over, I drive home and stomp into the lobby. It's frigid outside, and with the icy roads and falling snow it doesn't make my mood any better.

Bethany is working tonight at her desk, and she greets me, but I only grunt in reply.

I have a killer headache, and all I really want to do is disappear into my flat and drink the night away.

I walk past her and into the elevator, not once looking in her direction.

As I reach my flat, I toss my coat on the floor and reach into the fridge for my whiskey. When I find none, I curse and check my room. None there either.

I sigh heavily, grabbing my keys and coat again, storming back downstairs.

As I pass the receptionist's desk again, I sneak a look at Bethany.

She watches me leave, making my skin crawl. I hate being watched.

I make my way quickly down to the nearest pharmacy, and pick up a case of beer.

A few minutes later, I'm back in the lobby.

"Hey!" A voice calls out from behind me. I freeze, then look back to make sure it's me their talking to.

Bethany's blue eyes stare straight back at me, and I almost turn back around, but she speaks again.

"Your Harry Styles, right?" she asks, her blue eyes boring holes into my green ones.

I nod slowly, staying planted firmly on the spot.

She holds out a piece of paper to me, and I cautiously step forward to retrieve it.

"Someone called here asking for you and left his number for you to call him," she explains.

I look at the paper, then back at her. "Did he leave his name?" I ask gruffly, not at all in the mood to talk. But then again, when am I not?

She shakes her head. "No, just requested that you call him back."

I turn away without uttering a 'thank you' or anything.

In my flat, I look at the paper and scowl. I'm pretty sure it's my dad again, and I sure as hell am not going to call him back.

Even if it isn't my dad, I wouldn't want to call that number. I don't talk to people, and anyone on this planet earth should know that.

Collapsing on the couch in front of the tv, I crack open a beer and begin my long, lonely night.

___

Sorry this is so short and boring and if the beginning is confusing, I'm sorry. Msg me or comment if you don't understand what Harry is thinking :)